


Mistaken Fair

by danglingdingle



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Murder, sentient ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danglingdingle/pseuds/danglingdingle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-AWE story about altruism having run its course, though still a bit dizzy from seemingly having bumped to a dead end, so it‘d be unfair to assume that it knows what it‘s talking about. Of understanding arising, of how it is better to have loved and lost, than not having loved at all, and how an unfortunate death is not always, if ever, in vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the merrypirates fic-exchange on LJ. Recipient: xzombiexkittenx Specific request: The immortal Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain William Turner of the Flying Dutchman see the dawning of the age of Steam. Bonus points for porn (check) and double bonus for some real plot. (check. Emphasis on ’some’.)  
> Beta: The goddess of beta and encouragement, mamazano

_Mistaken fair, lay Sherlock by, his doctrine, doctrine  
Is deceiving; For while he teaches us to die, He cheats us, cheats us  
Of our living*_  
  
\- E of Chesterfield  
  
  
Mistaken Fair, Lay Sherlock  
  
  
July 2nd, 1846, London, England  
  
 _What brings me here, I do not know, but I’ll take whatever gifts it has to give, because I lied, and it’s you_  
  
The bow of the  _Flying Dutchman_  pierced the surface of the water together with the early rays of the sun, startling a flock of seagulls, who had ventured further out to sea for better pickings, and which were soon rewarded for their efforts as the fish floundering on the  _Dutchman_ ’s deck were tossed overboard, some to their immediate demise.  
  
Captain Turner paid little attention to the action taking place aboard his ship, as it was the morning of the first day of the thirteen he’d been able to barter from the gods and their humble pawns.  
  
It had been agreed, since there was no one left to burden with waiting, that Will Turner would gain a day for each year of Jack Sparrow’s captainship of the  _Black Pearl_ . A trade, which had taken negotiations, both pleasant, and some which Will remembered only in his nightmares, including the dragging a living man into the Locker, simply because it was the price that had hung over Jack’s head, and had, with no escape, to be paid.   
  
Will suspected that it had all been for the show, a ruse to amuse Calypso’s little pet who still, after time had buried the past under the sediment of the seabed, seemed to feed off vengeance. Another god, Will had concluded, in the makings.  
  
Through threats and promises, sneers and mocking remarks of Will only garnering treats for a pet of his own, they had reached an accord - a year for a year for a day. Seemed bloody fair to no one.  
  
There he was nonetheless, the Ferryman, walking on sturdy land, weaving his way through the narrow streets of London, past the sign of the Cock and Boar, and suddenly making a hasty turn around a corner to an alley, so he could press his head against a wall and swallow down the nausea that he pretended to be rising from the sheer quiescence under his feet.  
  
The crushing feel of not being able to lift a finger passed soon enough, as the miracle of immortality did his bidding, healing all ailments on their own accord. So Will continued his way towards the inevitable, as the compass he‘d gotten as a gift gave him his unwavering heading.  
  
_________________  
  
  
Standing at the door of the small apartment, Will listened in consternation at the sounds seeping through the shoddy walls - the delighted keening of a woman’s pleasure, followed by a lower moan, the latter which Will was more familiar with than he cared to admit.  
  
Chased by more than sudden, flaring anger, Will pressed his hand against the wall, letting it meld into the fixture, until, following a mere hunch, he withdrew and turned the doorknob.   
  
The lock opened effortlessly, and the door cracked ajar a fraction, the passionate voices growing louder as Will quietly pushed the door open, having a rather clear idea of what to expect.  
  
His face expressionless, Will stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and only then turned towards the bed pushed against the wall adjoining the one with a window. Leaning against the wall, nonchalantly crossing his arms to his chest, Will only lift an eyebrow at Jack’s expression, one that gleamed with smug maleficence.   
  
Aside from the terrified shriek of the woman as she fully fathomed a complete stranger walking in, and, out of all things imaginable, staying there, there were no words spoken as she launched herself from on top of Jack, and glancing fearful looks at Will, her lean figure trembling, and her pale as milk skin drawing even paler, with red flames of hair flowing down her shoulders, she gathered her dresses under Will’s measuring gaze, and covered herself enough to step over the threshold to never return.  
  
Jack made not a move to cover himself, except for palming his cock and closing his eyes as he stroked himself slowly with a deep, dissatisfied sigh. Bothering to acknowledge Will’s presence, Jack gave Will a languid look, and drawled sardonically, “Oh! You’re here! Amazing how time flies when you’re having fun, innit?” Jack paused, then frowned disappointedly at his cock, which drooped sadly. “Though not as much fun as I‘d hoped.” Looking lost for a few seconds, Jack abruptly leaned to reach under the bed, and reappeared with a bottle in hand, then focused on Will, a genuine question in his eyes, “What day is it anyway?”  
  
“The same day it was ten years ago today.”  
  
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Jack took a pull from the bottle as if to hide his grin, the crinkling of his eyes betraying him.  
  
“I gather you haven’t changed your mind?” Will stood still, inwardly berating himself for having no control over his reactions to stark naked Jack, and while he knew well enough what he was here for, he was already succumbing to the ineluctable outcome, the beginnings of which neared by the moment, as Jack stashed the bottle again, and sorted the sheets from around his legs.   
  
“I’ve changed me mind plenty a times, on several matters,” Jack raised from the bed, every word bringing him closer to Will. “None of which concern you particularly.”  
  
And with that, they were back to where they’d left off ten years ago. The same issues hanging heavy between them, each heavy breath growing heavier with each movement bringing them closer, the tension tight enough to make lesser men scream in frustration, to beg for the other to surrender, their unbreakable gazes looking for even the smallest hint of yielding …but that was not part of their game.  
  
“So I am forever to be your prisoner?” Will’s words came out in a gust of breath, his arms at his sides and his hands in tight fists to stop himself from giving quarter as Jack was close enough for Will to feel his breath on his cheek.  
  
“If that’s how you choose to see it, so shall it be.”  
  
“This is not what I’m here for.” The determination that ought to be there, had gotten lost somewhere along with his eyes refusing to avert from Jack’s hardening cock on command.  
  
“I know. But it was you who crudely barged in and deprived me of my pleasure, I say it‘s only fair you do it yourself.”  
  
It was Jack whose eyelids lowered, his face painted with mourning, so briefly, Will wasn’t sure if it really happened, as the next thing he knew, was Jack’s fingers around his neck, his thumb pressing into his jaw, and his hips pressed tight against Will’s, indeed imprisoning him, as if in fear Will would have made an escape at the faintest chance.   
  
Jack’s emotions twisted in a ball of steel wool so tight, that the piercing strings that snapped and sprung forth were nothing but curt grunts and snarls, the violence in which they spurt out spreading to his limbs, and onto Will‘s skin. They both knew they’d end up bruised and aching.  
  
Such was the intensity of their unresolved issues.   
  
“You taste like a cheap whore,” Will tore his mouth from Jack’s, grimacing with utter distaste as Jack lifted Will’s shirt over his head and threw it aside.  
  
“Oi! I didn’t pay a shilling to get under her skirts.”  
  
“I wasn’t talking about her,” Will lifted his chin towards the table, where there was a pitcher. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, Will tossed it to Jack with a curt suggestion. ”Clean yourself.”  
  
Slowly, a playful smile on his lips, Jack went to the table and dipped the sleeve of the shirt into the water. Making sure Will was watching his every move, Jack brushed the cloth on his cock, wrapping his hand around it, and letting out a whimpering sigh with his head thrown back. Lifting his head up to see Will’s reaction, Jack licked his lips lecherously, dragging the shirt across his abdomen, then clutching it to his chest, closing his eyes lightly, and breathing in deep. Batting his lashes at Will, with a silent ‘oh’, as if he’d forgotten something, Jack brought his fingers to his lips, sucking two of them in his mouth, and in a grand finale, wiped them dry on the shirt with a wink. “Almost missed a spot.”  
  
All reason, all rationality vanished, when the force of Will’s urge to claim, to unmake and make his own took over, blinded him from what had happened right before his eyes only minutes ago, leaving only his personal incubus in his sights.  
  
After Jack had gotten a jar of grease out of the small drawer of the nightstand, sat on the bed and wordlessly offered the jar to Will, patting the empty place beside him with a longing gaze, Will was already there, undressed, pulling Jack to him as they lowered on the mattress, mouths latched together to a toothy kiss, and another, and their hands worked towards reaching their common destination.   
  
Pushing Will on his back, Jack scooped a dollop of the grease with two fingers, while Will did the same, his other hand aiding Jack to straddle him while Jack slicked Will’s cock with warm hands, gasping in delight when Will rubbed the cleft of his arse, finding a path to Jack’s entrance, and penetrating him, heartily encouraged by Jack fucking himself to Will’s fingers.  
  
With a midnight-black gaze, here in bright daylight, Jack reached between his legs and grabbed Will’s wrist, pulling the hand in front of him, and did not let go. A minor adjustment, and Jack sank himself onto Will’s cock, a long, rumbling keening rising from his chest as he dictated with only a look, commanded with the hold of Will’s hand, and Will would not have even dreamed of disobeying.  
  
Slowly, torturing them both, Jack started moving, his eyes gleaming, nigh unseeing, as he released Will’s wrist only to take the hand into both of his own, thumbs to Will’s palm, fascinated with the strong, slick fingers, the expression which Will treasured with equal, breathless charm.   
  
Enchanted, Will ran his free hand along Jack’s side, from his thigh, up to the pit of his arm, and down again, until, without a sound of warning, Jack sucked Will’s fingers into his mouth, giving Will no other option but to stare, enraptured, and feel Jack’s wet licks over his fingertips, and listen, as the man sighed in delight around them.  
  
His cock aching painfully at the wanton display, the way Jack clenched around him as the taste of himself, served from the palm of Will’s hand did its bidding, Will, unable to resist, raised his hand to Jack’s hair, and with a firm hold, coerced his fingers free from their confine, earning Jack to open his eyes, just in time before Will compelled Jack’s lips on his own, thrust his tongue past them, and shared, blissfully, the remnants of Jack’s lush flavour.  
  
Too soon, Jack robbed him of the moment and straightened up, lifting higher on his knees, spreading them wider, and with deliberate, blatantly adoring strokes up Will’s arms, whispered; “Now, make it all up to me. Fuck me Will.”  
  
Will, fevered, having waited, knowing, that when the order finally came, he’d be the most obedient mess boy Jack had ever had in his service.  
  
“How’s the  _Pearl_ ?” Jack mustered through his whimpering gasps, leaning down to the palms of his hands, shifting himself so that Will could get in deeper, bending his head down next to Will’s.  
  
Shivering, Will was grateful of the nonsensical question, as it yanked him from the brink of spilling himself, all his senses on edge as he clenched Jack’s hips harder, grinding himself up into the man, the sight of Jack’s cock jerking with the pace, making Will’s mouth water with the want to suck and fuck him at the same time.   
  
“Waiting for you to come to your senses,” Will hissed sharply and suddenly held very still, the tremor of Jack’s panting dangerously sending static through his spine, drawing his bollocks even tighter.  
  
“Safe, then?” Sensing Will’s most immediate predicament pass, Jack slid up Will’s cock slowly, his eyes fixed on every small change in Will’s countenance.  
  
“Yes,” Will snarled, thrusting up brutally, reluctant to give Jack such peace of mind, even now.  
  
“Oh, good.“ Sitting back with a blissful smile, Jack forced Will to stop with his palms demandingly on Will‘s chest, rocking back and forth on his lap, his eyelashes light against his cheekbones, his mouth open as he pleasured himself, breath hitching at his indulgent, quiet, delayed, “No worries then.” Jack stilled, a saccharine smile on his lips, “You’ve left me here, floating up and down that shitty trench, while you sail the seven seas unhindered.”  
  
The unfair accusation flared wild inside Will, who grabbed Jack tight and forced him on his back, his eyes black with lust, the invigorating feel of Jack‘s ragged fingernails digging into his back in retaliation. “I did not make that decision, Jack. It’s your own stubbornness that holds you here.”  
  
“I will NOT do it.” Jack’s legs wrapped almost painfully around Will’s waist, his voice broken as he tried to speak through his voluptuousness. “I thought we were clear on that,” Jack gritted through his teeth, his back arching off the bed as Will bit into his neck, thrusting his hips against Jack’s roughly, faster, serving directly into for what they were both desperate.  
  
One, two, three breaths untaken, a final, forceful thrust, and Jack’s heat transcended Will into another world, a universe where everything was bright, and the sound of Jack’s voice whispered loving words into his ear between the apex of his own fulfillment, his words feeding Will’s famished soul; “As if I could ever let you go.”   
Here, Will spent a century, pondering, whether he’d just stay there, free of guilt, of responsibility, with nothing but Jack…until a sound, much like a sob, roused him from his small, too small a death.  
  
Evening his breath with a long sigh, Will adjusted his arm under Jack’s head and turned on his side, facing him, then, as if only continuing their earlier conversation, asked; “How’s the  _Rainbow_ ?”  
  
Jack opened his eyes, brightening up visibly and casting Will a fond look, one that Will couldn’t quite tell to whom it was directed. “She’s great.” In the guise of talking about boats instead of people, Jack reached to touch Will’s face gently, and continued with proud awe, “Hasn’t blown up even once.”  
  
“I shall go see her before I go.”   
  
Will’s callous, sobering tone caused Jack to withdraw his hand in silence, as there was nothing more to say.  
  
  
The air itself seemed to stand still while Jack languished on the bed, his knuckles white around his bottle of gin, the taste of turpentine in his mouth only welcomed, as he tried to wash away the taste of Will, preferably before the man even made it through the door.  
  
For a moment, Will stalled with his hand on the door knob, head lowered, so that the last thing Jack saw of him, was the way he set his jaw around a farewell.  
  
As the sound of Will’s steps faded, Jack started out of his torpor enough to look out the window, then fling the bottle against a wall as hard as he could with an enraged cry, because the sun wasn’t even at its peak, and Will was already gone, and what the hell was Jack supposed to do with only his heart?  
  
________________  
  
  
July 6th, 1836, when some portion of the world still made sense.  
  
 _If only I could be true to myself, maybe then I could accept, that I long since found the truth in you_  
  
The thick fog of the early London morning covered the man striding along a boat’s deck as if measuring it, jumping up and down here and there suspiciously, and landing with a displeased grimace and a grunt; “There’s not enough room to swing a bloody cat!”  
  
Knocking on the boards and glancing up the walls of the small shallow draft side-wheeler, Captain Jack Sparrow did not look to be very mightily proud to be the new owner of the fine vessel.  
  
With a sigh, and another glimpse at the complete lack of sails or masts for said sails to flutter from, Jack, deflated, trudged to his companion. His shoulders slumped, his whole form speaking of resigning to a terrible faith, Jack cast his eyes to the deck and dropped his head to the other man’s shoulder with a miserable whimper, “No sails, no finesse. And there‘s that godawful noise!”   
  
Pressing his forehead harder against the rough fabric of Captain Will Turner’s coat, Jack arms flailed limply as if too devastated to move himself, underlining his helplessness after Will gathered Jack into his arms in silence, patiently offering his support in his lover’s ailing.   
  
Jack raised his eyes to meet Will’s, wearily wrapping his arms around Will’s neck, and shook his head slowly, tiredly, “No soul whatsoever.”  
  
Dragging his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully while looking up to the boat, Will returned his gaze to Jack, “It’s not the  _Pearl_ , I’ll give you that,” he paused, then tried on a cheerier tone, “But she’s a sturdy one, I’m sure she’ll have a beautiful soul soon enough. She has you as her Captain, Jack.”  
  
Squinting at Will through one eye, Jack skeptically studied Will’s face for a moment, then gave a short, laconic laugh, “You really don’t much care for it either, do you?”  
  
“No,” Will’s mouth turned into a small smile, “I can’t say that I do.”   
  
Returning the smile, eyes suddenly softly mischievous, Jack wiggled closer to Will and tightened his arms around him, “Good. Maybe there’s some hope we’ll manage to make her ours, then.”  
  
The following kiss sealed the accord, the finer details of which would be addressed in further negotiations arranged more privately, as Jack definitely needed thorough advice from the more experienced ferrryman, before he could truly claim to be joining in the ranks of the Watermen of the River Thames. That is, should they one day accept the steam-engines in their list of approved vessels…  
  
“Right,” Will shed Jack off him gently, and grabbed a bucket of white led-paint from the deck, determinately approaching the smokestack, despite the tremor of trepidation caused by such a thing sticking out in the middle of a boat. “Let’s get this done with.”  
  
“You know,” Jack drawled, following Will with his own bucket and a brush. “You must be the only person alive who’d consider spending their shore leave on painting a shabby boat.” Swiping the first dab of paint, successfully getting most of it on the smokestack instead of in blobs on the deck, Jack gave a sideways glance at Will, and happily, brainlessly, blurted out a string of words which paralyzed Will to the spot; “I knew there was a reason I saved your life.”  
  
“Jack.” Will fell solemn for a beat. “About that…”  
  
  
Meanwhile, the absurdly named ‘ _Rainbow_ ’, (“Well I can’t bloody well name her ‘ _Dull_ ’, now can I? “) coughed and cricked, oblivious to what took place on her decks in her being just a boat, as the very first, faint brush of personality washed through its interior, giving the initial, vertiginous dab of colour to its lifeless structure of plain steel and long-dead wood.  
  
________________  
  
  
On the earlier side of October 19th ,1846, when the raveled begins to unravel.   
  
 _My heart tells me I can trust you with anything, I just don’t know if my heart is anything to be trusted_  
  
Like a thief in the night, only less detected, Will stood like looming Death beside Jack’s bed, watching the man’s innocent slumber, his face so calm and free of the burdens of the world, and Will could not fathom how he could even close his eyes, let alone for long enough to fall asleep.  
  
With measured movements, Will turned towards the nightstand, and in all quietness, lit the stub of a candle in the holder. Following black smoke puff up in clouds as the wick caught fire, it was as if they confirmed Will’s darkest suspicions.   
  
Once the flame burned steadily, he plunged onto his attack, grabbing a handful of Jack’s hair, effectively waking him up into a world of pain and terror.  
  
“What did you do to her, Jack?!” Will raised his voice over Jack’s panicked scream, holding his head still, while his legs kicked and his hands grasped at anything he could reach. “What the fuck have you done?” Will could not, would not give in his upper hand. “She can’t pass.”  
  
The dangerously quiet hiss shrilled in Jack’s ears when he recuperated from his scare enough to utter between his insuppressible sobs, “Who? What? Will, Will! What are you talking about?”  
  
Without letting go of his hold, Will studied Jack sturdily, contemptuously, for the longest time, but upon finding that the way Jack’s eyes were wide and filled with genuine worry, spoke of nothing but ignorance, knocked Will’s certainty out of balance.  
  
“The woman,” Will eased his clutch to a gentle, almost apologetic cupping of Jack‘s head, and lowered to one knee next to the bed. “The girl you had here, she’s dead.”  
  
“I know that,” Jack stated, dumbfound, and all too lightly to the ears of the Ferryman whose worst fears seemed to be coming true with the speed of a falling star.  
  
“Of course you do.” Disgusted, desperate, Will drew his hands to himself, instantly scolding himself for forgetting what Jack was, and always had been. “Why else would she be asking for you?” Jack’s stunned face did little to assuage the bile from rising to Will’s throat. “May I ask if you knew she was with a child when you brought the rock to her skull, Jack? Or was that the very reason why you did it in the first place? No pearls for the swine?”   
  
Released from both under the punishing eyes, and the hands so hurtful, Jack lifted to sit up, and, his brow drawn into a mournful frown, said, with the childish lilt of an innocent, “Scarlett. That‘s her name,” he squinted as if trying to recollect something, rubbing his hand on the lingering tingle of his scalp. Eyes then staring directly into Will’s who looked as if he’d seen a ghost, Jack added with a solemn shrug, “Apparently, the name runs in the family.”   
  
\---------------------------------------------------------  
  
July 6th, 1836, the day when it all went to pot.  
  
 _It’s the guilt I can’t bear, but you‘ll never know, because you’re the guilt, and I’ll never tell you_  
  
“My life,” Will hesitated only for a second, then plunged his brush into the bucket of paint and continued with the task with brisk swipes, his voice chirpy enough to cause alarm in anyone who’d spent three minutes with the man. “I’ve been thinking, that it’s time to go with the original plan.”   
  
Will paused, biting his cheek in high hopes that Jack would take it from there. When he didn’t, Will dropped the brush, folded his arms, faced Jack, and promptly sought reassurance from the tip of his boots, as the look Jack stared him with, frozen still, did not promise a fruitful conversation.  
  
“You once offered to stab the heart, change the facts. And I think it’s time to do that now.”  
  
Mulling over these scarce bits of speech which seemed to not make any sense at all, Jack only kept his eyes on Will’s lips, like waiting for frogs to jump out any moment now, the paint from his brush dropping in blots on the boat’s deck.  
  
Will rolled his eyes inwardly, searching for a reasonable way to explain himself, and indeed found the end of a string which led him to uttering brightly; “Elizabeth.”  
  
Wavering on his feet like he’d been punched in the face, Jack steadied himself with a step back, then formed a ludicrously exaggerated look upon his face, feigning with all skill of the art, the air of deep, calculating pondering.  
  
This lasted all of two blinks, before he brassily responded as if to a village idiot; “No.”  
  
It was Will’s turn to stand there, dumbfound, as Jack said nothing more, but returned to the task at hand.  
  
“But, but that’s what you’ve wanted, to be the Captain of the  _Dutchman_ . Jack, it’s your turn, I‘m giving it to you!”  
  
With a weary sigh, Jack slumped and took a breath preparing him to bear to explain the sheer self-evident obviousness of it.   
  
To fully, inescapably underline his point, Jack stepped closer, his nose almost to Will’s, and did not allow their eye-contact to break even for a fraction of a spell. “No,” he repeated. “First off, me becoming the Captain of the  _Dutchman_ , as appealing as it may have sounded when it still was an option to be considered, there have been slight changes in the facts since then.”   
  
Checking thoroughly that he was getting his message through and Will was all ears, Jack launched onto another point, “Second of all, were I to stab your heart, and deposit my own in that box, it would, then, increase the possibility of my death exponentially, seeing that I am immortal as it is, and it would only take one fool to prick a nick on the beating thing, and I’d no longer be amongst the breathing, savvy?”  
  
Will wasn’t thwarted by the vehement statement. Instead, he lodged loose yet another possibility. “Then give me back the chest. And the key. I’ll find someone else.”  
  
Whether Jack had heard what he said, Will did not find out from the way Jack nonchalantly dipped the brush in the bucket and continued painting, and when Jack, “ _In vain you tell your parting lover,_ ” began humming, “ _You with fair winds will wash you over. Alas! What winds can happy prove_ ,” Will wasn’t sure, “  _That bear me far from whom I love_ ,” which one of them, “ _Alas! What dangers on the main_ ,” was going, “ _Can equal those which I sustain,_ ” mad. “ _From slighted vows and cold disdain._ ”*  
  
Once the most urgent repairs had been made in grave silence, the next morning Jack had woken up, aching pleasantly in all the right places… Alone. Now that Captain Turner had seen fit to drag down the  _Pearl_  with him, the bastard keeping her a hostage, until Jack ‘learned what it feels like to be parted with a loved one, indefinitely,’ as the chilling note with its cursed, flaming letters announced, and beneath them, the unseen awareness that everything had changed.   
  
_________________  
  
  
October 18th, 1846, a day you will always remember as the day you were found dead by Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
 _Time means nothing, nor does waiting. Longing always had a certain ring to it, and time… well. That is what I have_  
  
It was three or so months since Will had left. Just left, taking more of Jack with him that he cared to admit, leaving him once again to his own devices, after not spending even a whole single day of his time on land. It was after that Jack had made it a habit to carry the key to Will’s heart with him, the weight of the wrought iron calming against his skin. A charm, if you like, one that allowed Jack the illusion that Will wasn’t so very far away, definitely not out of reach, but right next to him, countering the burdensome treatment from the Watermen who still felt threatened by the new vessels wedging on their territory and gobbling up their income with the speedier transportation.   
  
Despite the Watermen's Steam Packet Company having joined with the Woolwich Steam Packet Company, and while all was well on the surface, except of course for those who drowned and injured in the various accidents when the steamboats collided with the ferries, it had forced Jack to spend his nights aboard the  _Rainbow_ , standing a lonely watch over the one thing in the world he could still call his own…   
  
The  _Rainbow_ , on the other hand, was docked securely to welcome passengers, and Jack stood on the other side of the boat, leaving the greeting and meeting of the day to the boy he’d hired for sixteen pence a year.   
  
Staring at the river that had turned from water, not into wine, no, but into a cholera pool of every excrement imaginable, Jack tried not to breath in the stench. That he could do, if there were no curious eyes, and the following, joking questions whether he was perhaps familiar with the techniques of the fakirs and mystics of far-away India.  
  
To that, Jack’s common answer was to only state that he’d left the spice trade some time ago.  
  
Today, his moment of not having to bear the burden of all his five, maybe six, senses, him only barely having made the pleasing decision to spend the night at his apartment, drink himself into a stupor, and deal with the consequences later, when he was rudely interrupted with something more bigger and personifiable than a raft of shit: This thing had hair. And once it turned, bobbing on the wave of a passing boat, it appeared it also had a face.  
  
Numb, Jack stood still and gawked at the woman, mouthed a cry of help, and after finding that not a sound came out, he ingested a lungful of air, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Man overboard!”  
  
During the frantic flurry of action, even a life-buoy was thrown in as if the dead would clamber aboard on its own, Jack followed, stupefied, as nothing helpful was actually happening. Mortified, he succumbed to his inexorable fate, chucked his coat and boots, thrust the end of the buoy rope into the hands of the nearest person with sharp instructions to hold fast, and, crossing himself, took a dive into the river.  
  
Once Jack was hauled back up with the corpse, and Jack could stop heaving his lunch overboard, the scuttlebutt had already begun; The gnash on the girls head revealing the brain through the crack on her skull screamed vicious, bloody murder.  
  
___________________  
  
  
Further into the night of October 18-19th, 1846, when the unraveled threads, curved around thick throats, stop choking.  
  
 _Did I come here because I know you, because I fear knowing you, or because I do not know you at all, and am afraid to find out?_  
  
“Scarlett,” Will repeated skeptically, eyeing Jack’s gesture of moving aside, and making room for Will to sit on the bed beside him with even more apprehension.   
  
“Mmm.” Jack confirmed, and then, as in afterthought, gave Will a hopeful look. “You didn’t happen to have a bottle stashed in that outfit?”  
  
Bundling the quilt into his hands which bore the coal-soot scoffed out by the  _Rainbow_ , the black stains dug deep into his skin like tar once had. “She had her eye set on the Fleshmonger’s son, A Freeman, just waiting for his old man to take a final kip and the place was to be theirs. Promised to marry Scarlett after the practicalities were done with. The girl worked hard for her dowry.” Jack lift a hand to halt Will from speaking, “Now, no, it’s not what you think. Spinner by day, and the rest of the time she did flower hawking. Made them as well, when she couldn’t get her hands on real ones.”  
  
Still processing the information, Will suddenly gave Jack a queer eye, and before he could spurt out the accusations forming on his tongue, Jack let out a long, surrendering sigh, his eyes roaming the walls, and mouth tasting for the correct words.  
  
Then he set his eyes on Will’s, the look on his face clear on what he thought of possible interruptions. “Look, Will, I know this is a bit much to ingest, but I never laid a hand on her. I mean, yes, you walked in on us, true enough, and what a perfect timing it was.”  
  
Utterly incapable of doing anything with this drop of information, Will only shifted to a more comfortable posture, and gestured for Jack to continue, “Timing?”  
  
“Yes. A moment sooner, and you’d found us talking about her man. A few minutes later, and she’d been out the door already, running late as she was to begin with.” His gaze stark fixed on Will, Jack regarded him contemplatively, as if reassessing him and his capabilities.   
  
In infuriating consternation, Jack, when Will said nothing to accompany his obvious understanding, flailed his arms uselessly, and laid it all out in the open, “Fine, you’re right, alright! It was all a big, rotten, bad, bad idea to rouse even the slightest hint of…well, anything, really, out of you.”  
  
“You did that, bribed a decent girl into your bed, to get me jealous, is that right?”  
  
“Helped her, Will, helped. With questionable benefits,” Jack defended instinctively, then studied Will’s face as if only now realizing who he was talking with. “But, in so many words…yes. And she only did it because she trusted me, don‘t ask me why.” A solemn, sad expression passed over Jack’s face, “Of course she did. She knew what I am.”  
  
“And what, exactly, are you, Jack?”  
  
“William,” Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation with a lopsided, self-ironic smile. “I couldn’t even get hard with her sitting right on my cock.”  
  
Will did not miss a beat before launching to yet another question, “Then why did you do it? I thought…”  
  
“That’s why, Will.” Jack closed his eyes briefly, smiling a sardonic smile at his own thoughts. “That bullet was meant for you.” Slumping his hands to his lap, as if there was nothing more to do, Jack deflated, glancing at Will, measuring his words like they were gold dust. “I wanted you to feel how I did - or was hoping you might feel the same twinge - when you went babbling about me stabbing your heart.”   
  
Jack clambered out of the bed, clad in only his night shirt, his movements were edgy, fidgeting, the frustration stemming from Will’s obvious incapability of performing the miracle of turning thin air into drink resulting in drawing him out of the bed and to the pitcher served splendiferous in hiding his anxiety.  
  
Pouring water into a cup in a deliberately slow trickle, he continued without facing Will. “The best, most rewarding and definitely efficient kind of vindictiveness is always achieved when it’s the least expected.” He took a sip, then another, the rim of the cup lingering on his lips while he gathered his thoughts. “Little did I know it would hurt me more than it did you.”  
  
“Jack, listen-”  
  
“I am warning you William. You shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.”  
  
Yes. Will knew he should be furious, feel betrayed, fooled, collect each and every derisive sneer into a mosaic which formed Jack‘s bilk that threatened to destroy everything, but he wasn‘t. Not now. Not yet.  
  
Here he was, between Jack and the invisible, impenetrable wall he‘d created in his own mind at the sight of Elizabeth‘s last smile, with Jack diligently knocking on the barrier, listening carefully for the weakest point, as if he‘d always known it was there, just waiting for the final blow. “Don’t forget who I am, Jack. Or who I was. A few burns more will only fade into the rest.”  
  
“Ah, yes, the Master Blacksmith, the goddamn God of Roiling Flames and the Forger of Souls.” Jack turned and stared at Will pointedly, “You take such pride of that. Now, what good has it ever done to you, eh? Spreading your gifts around carelessly, with no real cause or end… Tell me something William; does this martyr-act give you what you’re looking for? ”  
  
Sullen, Will reached his hand in silent request for the water, as his mouth was suddenly dry as a Bedouins’ sandal. After draining the cup, Will stared at the bottom of it as if the ultimate answer would be found there, if only he looked at it from the right angle.   
  
Still talking into the cup rather than to Jack, Will gripped at the essence of it all in a voice which told of wanting to deny it still; “All my life I lived for love.”  
  
“So did I.” The tone of Jack’s voice was bright as he’d been talking about the prospect of it not raining today. “And I don‘t seem to be dead yet.” A searching glimpse around the walls in consternation, and Jack continued quietly, his countenance changing like a weathervane in the wind. “Not anymore… Again,” he dismissed the tangent with a head shake. “Whichever.”   
  
Hopping back on the bed, Jack leaned on his elbow and supported his cheek to his palm, peering up at Will with great interest. “So now that we’re running in circles here, would you rather keep doing so, or shall we move on to what’s really eating you alive? …figuratively.”  
  
“I take it you think you have the answer for that too.”  
  
“Well, technically, not an answer, per se, but an educated guess.” Searching Will’s features, Jack, genuinely keen, asked, “Why did you hand me the chest after Elizabeth’s last journey? And, furthermore, why do you think the compass, painstakingly, leads you to me, and not, say, an example just off the top of me head; the thump-thump?”  
  
“You’re the only one left,” came the answer, straight, without thinking. That Will had practiced to perfection, like he’d only waited for the question it fit. Yet, there was now a fracture in the wall.  
  
“Is that so?” Jack turned to his side and focused on inspecting his fingers, grudgingly nipping at a hangnail with his teeth, then spoke to his hand, “Then I gather my assumptions have been slightly veered off course all this time.” He turned back to Will, and to his astonishment, found the man smiling. “Whut?”  
  
“Nothing, Jack. It’s just that it really is impossible for you to admit that you’re wrong.”  
  
“Not exactly, no. I mean that I’m not. Wrong. Answer me this, William; Have you been on land every ten years since your beloved wife joined the revered fleet of Heavenly Pirates?”  
  
“Yes?” Will regarded Jack as if thinking it was best to humour the madman.  
  
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” Jack gave Will a pointed look, who snapped his mouth shut to a thin, exaggerated line. “But I can’t seem to remember there being any changes made in the terms on which you can do just that.”  
  
“You’ve been… You haven’t… But that means…” Will’s brow scrunched into deep pondering, his lip sucked into his mouth as he reached to set the cup off of his hands. At long last, Will managed to find Jack’s eyes, and blurted out the obvious, with certain difficulties; “Chastity. You, I mean, yes, we…But then, that means… You love me?”  
  
“Chapeau, Captain Turner.” Jack gave Will a polite nod and a temperate applause with a sneer, “Your gift of perception never ceases to amaze me,” the mocking, awed shaking of his head added a layer of indignation with each turn. “Astonishing, really.” Dropping the act, Jack hooked Will’s gaze with his own, and spoke, every word the end result of having been ground through the unimaginable. Including the maw of a Kraken; ”Yes, Will.” Jack paused, leaving the words hanging in between them, simply to marvel at them, now that they were there. ”Always have, and it’s never been much of a secret either. Why’d you think I let you take the  _Pearl_ ? Besides, I never was known for settling with deficient substitutes…”  
  
”Elizabeth,” Will uttered, staring straight through Jack and into a memory, not noticing Jack doing his very best not to scream. ”She once said something, talking about love and the different forms and shapes and disguises it takes, and how one could never be sure if it were a blessing or a curse.” Returning in the present, Will focused on Jack again. ”That was soon after you’d drank the water.”  
  
”Oh, yes, she was there!” Uncertain if he should be glad about the shift in the subject, Jack weighed his words a little more carefully, ”Spent the night together wondering how it could be that such a bright man such as yourself can be so slow on the uptake when it comes to the matters of the heart. She’d quite the stories to tell.”   
  
”I know. She explained me how she’d declined your generous offer to share the water. And then she asked me whether she should hide the chest, or if I wished to give it to you. At the time I just thought I’d been around Calypso too much.” Will seemed stunned, dazed, as the enigmatic pieces left fluttering about by his wife came to form a full picture with all haste. ”She knew.”  
  
”Aye,” Jack confirmed with a fond smile which once used to be nothing short of a grimace. Funny, how time changes one’s perception. ”I believe she did, right from the start, and she wasted not an opportunity to rub it in either.”  
  
”No, Jack,” Will was rapidly changing colour, the flush creeping up along his chest and reaching his ears showing dark in the dim lighting of the room. ”She knew I’d jump at the chance to give you my heart. That’s the shape of things she was talking about.”   
  
It was Jack’s turn to stare at Will wordlessly, mouth open and his eyes shifty in search of something that made at least a lick of sense. Clutching at inanities for the sake of saying something, anything, Jack began with a ”Wiser words--” but got no further, when Will, feverishly, interrupted, visibly excited, ”Were never spoken, indeed. She always said we’d find peace, but it wouldn’t be the same for the both of us. That’s why she never considered immortality, it always frightened her, more than death.” Will paused, awe splayed on his face as he gathered the words in need of saying, lest he got lost in the labyrinth of the thought alone. ”It’s you.”  
  
From there, it was truly their destinies who touched them.  
  
  
It was nothing like the first time, when it had been a rum-sodden, fumbling venture into seeking comfort and warmth at a time when neither of them possessed the presence of the mind to do nothing but to put an end to the uncomfortable silence that had landed between them, insolently shelving itself in the place where their companionship had always done the talking, even at times of deafening taciturnity. They had been only two, strangers to each other, when nothing had seemed appropriate, every turn of phrase a mock of something, tongues burning with the words scorching a way out and in the open, the heat agglomerating and growing impatient, until, as of their mutual accord, it was doused with lusting hands and sucking mouths, harsh, pleading moans which allowed a way for the captive sounds to find an escape.  
  
Nor did it bore any resemblance to any of the other times, not the soothing, long, fulfilling spells of finding momentary meaning from the pleasure they could give each other, or the savage, carnal, basic yearn to feel, feel, the most profound satisfaction gotten from the pain both given and received.  
  
There, together with Jack, Will faced the wall with a fracture, peering at it, inquisitive, tentatively placing his palm against its smooth surface, and gasped, with a giddying, exhilarating realization, when the wall crumbled and shattered, bursting into fine dust which fell down slowly, with Will, floating like the first flakes of snow, until they melted and vanished, leaving behind only one.   
  
Holding Jack, being held by him, Will kissed Jack’s lips lightly, both of them straying into, exploring the feeling with soft touches, the flavoursome taste of unconstrained love calling them to stay for a while, knowing with the flair of mischief, that they’d never get enough.  
  
Without breaking the contact, Will murmured into Jack’s lips the one word which said it all; ”Freedom.”  
  
Jack, smiling, tilting his head to better reach, replied with brushing his nose to the side of Will’s, and savored the truth with a deeper kiss, locking it as their own with the languid lave of their tongues.  
  
Softly coddled in the lavish, pleasantly numbing sense of having come to a point where everything finally made sense, there was still a nagging thought trying to push through the fog his mind had lulled into. Reluctantly, Will lazily followed his stream of consciousness, the otherworldly pull that he felt tugging at his wits growing stronger with each breath, and flung his eyes open on arriving to the crux of it. ”Jack!” Will bolted up with sheer horror in his eyes. ”We must get to Scarlett!”  
  
”No,” Jack sat up slowly and mumbled into Will’s shoulder, a sheen of sadness shadowing his words. ”You must get to her. I’m staying right here, where it’s not at all like in the Locker.”  
  
”Jack.” Will sought his fingers under Jack’s chin and lifted lightly until they were eye to eye. ”She asked for you. And I promise you it won’t be the same. I will be there.” Will paused, waiting for Jack to acquiesce to the lack of choice, and at the softening of Jack’s eyes, added gently, punctuating his own troubles with the finality of understanding; ”The  _Pearl_  will be there.”  
  
__________________  
  
  
Dawning of October 19th ,1846, with time not exactly of the essence, though the dead do tell better tales when they‘re not very angered.  
  
  
”What’s she doing on the  _Dutchman_  in the first place?” Jack thought to ask as he pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat from the nail. ”The police only said she’d fallen and hit her head, been stone dead by the time she fell into the water.”  
  
Will shook his head briefly, frowning at the unpleasant thought, ”There’s two things that happened that the police can’t possibly know about; She didn’t die from the blow right away, though she wasn’t breathing either. She died in the river, otherwise I wouldn’t be here… and so did her unborn child.”  
  
”One thing before we go,” halting Will at the door, Jack forced him to look at him in all seriousness. ”Next time you’re troubled, do us a favour, and try not to sit on it for centuries.”  
  
Exactly four steps into their morning journey, Jack tugged Will to a stop, and with no more than a placating gesture to keep him right there, Jack swerved back into the apartment.   
  
The rummaging through a closet could be heard out to the street, leaving Will to smile politely at the passers by, shrugging at their inquisitive faces as if proving his innocence in the happenings.  
  
Soon enough, Jack re-emerged, clearly searching for something, and upon spotting a flower bed, he approached it with a little pleased yelp.  
  
At Will’s first snicker, Jack merely shot him a glare, and by the time Will was laughing unrestrained, leaning to his knees so as not to simply roll on the ground in his mirth, Jack waved a mitigating hand at his way, as if the man knew nothing about nothing.  
  
Checking his small, yet hopefully sufficient, jar of dirt, which had been a jar of marmalade mere moments ago, Jack pocketed it with renewed courage, and gave Will a good-humoured grin. ”What? What? One can never be too careful about these things, you of all people should know that by now…It’s not that I don’t trust you, but…”   
  
___________________  
  
  
”What took you so long?!” The rather demanding query was delivered with a resounding swat across Will’s face as soon as they’d haply made it to the deck of the  _Dutchman_ .   
  
Forcing a smile on his face, Will turned from the agitated woman to Jack, and bowed down extravagantly as if presenting royalty. ”I believe you two have met before.”  
  
”Scarlett!” Jack chimed, stepping forth with the intention to give the woman a hugging greeting, but was stopped in his tracks by a fiery look shot his way. With an almost shy shift in Jack’s posture, he glanced at Will, then, as if that was enough of an explanation, addressed the young, dead, woman. ”Apologies for the delay, darling, it was entirely my fault. There were certain…issues which needed attending.”  
  
The clue well received, the scrutiny Will was instantly regarded with, what with Scarlett squinting at him from head to toe, toe to head, and then back again, made Will instinctively straighten his back, and feeling much like a horse on display, half prepared to have the woman’s fingers in his mouth, just in case she wanted to check his teeth too.  
  
As entertaining as the scene was, Jack yet decided to let Will off the clutches and wedged himself between the two, ”There’s something you needed to see me for, specifically?”  
  
”I didn’t fall,” Scarlett spat as if Jack had accused her of such a thing. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice and gave a sideways glimpse at Will, ”Did it work?”  
  
”Well, technically,” Jack waved an arc indicating the inclusion of just about everything thinkable into the matter, then let his hand slump down with sadness in his eyes, ”as per the original scheme, yes, but it took your death to ram the point through.”  
  
Scarlett only tilted her head and gave Will yet another suspicious glance, and still keeping her eye on him, said to Jack, ”Seems fine and well to me. At least it was quick enough. Just make sure to keep it that way…speaking of which,” she swiveled toward Jack, and without a hint of shame or regret, said sternly, ”I didn’t do so well with that.”   
  
”Excuse me,” Will interrupted from the side, the situation becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the crew gradually gathered around them, each one of them finding some task that needed to be done right this minute, all which just happened to be conveniently at earshot. ”If I may suggest taking this to somewhere more private. And if I’m not mistaken, there should be some refreshments that will appeal to at least one of you.”  
  
”Ah, wonderful,” Jack clasped his hands together in front of him with a thankful bow, then nudged Scarlett with his elbow, winked with a charmed smile, and whispered loud enough to be heard by anyone who cared to listen; ”You see why he’s worth most anything he might be throwing my way?”  
  
Scarlett’s mirthful laughter sounded in the still air of the World’s End, escorting the three of them into the Great Cabin.  
  
__________________  
  
October 20th ,1846, when all’s well that ends well.  
  
Will Turner, a smith from the town of York sat in front of a desk at the local magistrate, recounting once more what he’d seen on the eve of the seventeenth of October in the year 1846 of our Lord, when he’d been, as the report later stated, ’Discussing business transactions with the local anvil smith, and how they’d been interrupted by a distressed scream of a young woman, then proceeded to follow the sound, and observed a large man appearing to have lodged a brick against the young woman’s head, henceforth identified as Scarlett Fielding.   
  
With the anvil smith’s recognition of the culprit, and him hastily refusing to speak of it further, Mr. Turner had chosen to take precautions before coming forth with his information about the murder of Scarlett Fielding, whose murderer is hereby named as Alan Bailey of Bailey’s Tannery. At the arrest of Mr. Bailey, he confessed the murder, the performing of which he only explained as a necessity under the circumstances, as the victim had been ’stupid enough to think too much of herself and her whelp.’  
  
The case will be presented to the public prosecutor and in front of a trial jury, after which the suitable punishment convicted will without a doubt be death.  
  
__________________  
  
  
”That went well, then?” Jack put his hand to Will’s back as he emerged through the doors of the magistrate.   
  
”I suppose so. At least justice will be served, and Scarlett can rest in peace.”  
  
”She did seem mighty pleased with the outcome. Bantam lass, must’ve been in her blood.”  
  
”Yes, she did bear certain resembling features,” amusedly, Will lift his hand to his cheek as if soothing away a slap.  
  
”So, love,” Jack whisked the subject aside with a wave of a hand, making room for a new one. ”You dare to extend your leave for a day, maybe two? Or perhaps even for the whole fortnight you have left of your previous shore leaves…”  
  
”For what?” Will felt a joyful tug in his chest, realizing Jack had been keeping detailed track of Will’s errant visits.  
  
”I was thinking, since it’s been a good while since I was last fucked to the lull of the  _Pearl’s_  sway, I might interest you to do exactly that.” Jack cast his eyes over Will’s face, finding him biting his cheek to keep from grinning, and continued, ”Seeing, that there’s nothing I’d rather do than to make love to you.”  
  
” _Shhh! Jack!_ ” Will glanced around in alarm, yet the way he returned towards Jack glowed an eager accord, ”keep your voice down, or would you like to see us hanged too?”  
  
”I’ll take that as a yes,” chuckling, Jack flashed a wide, mischievous grin at Will, wrapping his arm around Will’s as they headed towards the  _Rainbow_  to take them home. ”And frankly,” Jack continued with a leery air, ”I’d be curious to see them try.”  
  
  
As the sounds of the two men approaching reached the  _Rainbow_ , who nigh reverberated life in her renewed splendor, she bucked happily on the ripple of a passing wave, excited and eager to meet the  _Black Pearl_ , and perhaps even the  _Flying Dutchman_ , the legends she’d listened her Captain speaking of softly, while wistfully, patiently caressing her own spirit into existence, spirit, she hadn’t even known she had.   
  
They’d have lots to talk about.  
  
  
THE END  
___________________  
  
* ’ _In vain you tell your parting lover_ ’ is an 18th century love song, that ”Has been set by Mr. Jackson and others.” and ”Is a minuet by Geminiani, to which it is very happily adapted.”


End file.
